


Te Dinui

by Shelaar (JonathanAnubian)



Series: Setting Souls Aflame [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, He was lured in with books, Jaster is a Nerd, M/M, Mand'alor (Star Wars), Mandalorians (Star Wars), Planet Stewjon (Star Wars), Romance, Stewjoni Culture (Star Wars), meet cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathanAnubian/pseuds/Shelaar
Summary: When Jaster became Mand'alor he had no idea that the role came with the stipulation he had to find a spouse. But he is nothing if not dedicated so if he's going to do this, he's going to do itright.
Relationships: Jaster Mereel/Original Character(s)
Series: Setting Souls Aflame [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070174
Comments: 10
Kudos: 149





	1. How it Began

**Author's Note:**

> A Stewjonian week is 5 days, a month is 30.

When Jaster had taken his place as the new Mand’alor there had been a lot he didn’t know. Thank the Ka’ra that there was someone he knew had all the information he lacked. The Armorer had taken one look at him and had known why he’d come. After staying with the Armorer’s clan for two months to learn all he could about being a proper Mand’alor he was summarily packed up and sent off to Stewjon with an honor guard.

When he arrived on the planet he was greeted by the last vestiges of what appeared to be a city wide celebration. They knew who he was the moment his boots touched dirt and in the split second it took him to blink he found he was the only one still standing. The Armorer had warned him this would happen but he still didn’t feel prepared for it.

“Welcome to Stewjon, Mand’alor, we are here to serve.” Their Mando’a was flawless but that wasn’t news to him, just interesting to hear coming from a people who seemed so different. He spied various pieces of armor, though it looked more ceremonial than functional, among those who were kneeling and realized they must be the Stewjonian’s own honor guard for him. He felt ridiculous. He didn’t become Mand’alor to be catered to. He wanted to unite his people.

Shaking off his thoughts he slipped his helmet off and nodded politely toward the one who’d spoken to him. “You know why I’ve come?” There was a muttering among the group but one look from the leader and they were silent once again.

“Of course, we have staffed the Soul Garden estate in preparation for your arrival.” They looked to his guards. “Your people will be taken care of in the meantime. The Soul Garden is not far from here but I am afraid that your guards will have to be housed elsewhere, as only the Mand'alor may enter." There was a note of apology in their voice but Jaster waved it off. 

“That will be fine, thank you.” One thing he knew for certain was that he was absolutely safe from the Stewjonians. His guards, on the other hand… Actually seeing the way that the Stewjonians were looking up through their lashes at the Mandalorian warriors he let out a small huff of amusement. It didn’t look like they were in any danger either. If anything he might not be the only one leaving the planet with a spouse.

“If you are ready, Mand’alor, we will take you to your estate now.” He gave one last look at his commandos, silently ordering them to behave, before he allowed himself to be led toward a speeder. 

The planet itself was filled with lush forests, beautiful lakes, and architecture that looked as if it came from a dream. The word for Stewjon in Mando’a closely resembled the ancient word for paradise, and now he could see why. Entering through the large gates he was guided along a garden path and had to stop for a moment to breathe it all in. If it weren’t for the wind and the sound of gentle running water coming from somewhere nearby he was certain the silence would have done him in. It felt like years of tense anxiety were being stripped from him, leaving behind an almost peaceful state of mind. 

The mansion itself was clearly ancient, although well maintained, and he spied what he assumed were servants scurrying around at the corners of his eyes. He was brought before an elder who gave him a slow once over, as if judging him personally, and he instinctively stood straighter under their scrutiny. 

“I am Obi-kua Kenobi, she/her, Mistress of the Soul Garden.” Jaster gave her a slight bow. He could tell she was someone he did not want to get on the wrong side of. 

“Jaster Mereel, he/him, Mand’alor.” She nodded. 

“Welcome to the Soul Garden. Would you like to settle in first or meet the Candidates?” Jaster tried very hard not to grimace. The Armorer had been very clear that Candidate was an honorable and envied title. Jaster didn’t know how he felt about people fighting for the honor of becoming his spouse. 

“First, are there any rules or protocols I should follow?” The Mistress paused and he swore there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“We only ask that you enjoy yourself, Mand’alor, and if you happen to find a spouse quickly that you let us know so we may throw the appropriate celebrations.” His cheeks heated slightly. 

“Nothing else?” He asked to be sure. 

“Mand’alor, you are our great ruler, the sole leader of our people. If you wished to bed every person in this estate we would not stop you. If you were to kill someone who displeased you we would only ask for time to clean the mess.” Jaster felt a chill of horror run down his spine and immediately shook his head in angry denial. 

“I would never!” He growled, certain that he couldn’t bring himself to hurt these soft people who had welcomed him so readily. The Mistress smiled. 

“Then you truly are the honorable warrior I expected.” He blinked in confusion as she turned around and let out a piercing whistle. It took maybe thirty seconds for twenty Stewjonians to gather behind the Mistress, bowing to him. “These are the Candidates, chosen for compatibility.” Five of them were quite obviously feminine, either in dress or physical appearance, while five were clearly masculine in either dress of appearance. The rest wore neutral clothing in styles that made it difficult to discern, not that he would have assumed anyone’s sex or gender from appearances alone. There were far too many species in the galaxy to make that the first thing one should notice about a fellow Mandalorian. 

The Mistress allowed each of them to introduce themselves and he was surprised how many of them were warriors from their clan. Four of the twenty were even karking Force Sensitive. It was a bit much but he made sure to be polite to each of them. 

“You have a Stewjonian month to choose one of the Candidates. Twenty days will be set aside for each Candidate to spend the day with you. The last ten you may ask for any Candidate to return to your side. If you find someone you wish to take immediately we will honor your decision. If there are two whose souls call to you we can consult further on where to go from there. At the end of the month if none of the candidates catch your attention we shall find new Candidates.” Jaster nodded, there wasn’t much else he could do but agree. 

When he was finally in his own room, a lavish suite decked out in dark reds and bone white, a tribute to the ancestors, he finally felt able to relax. Looking around, half paranoia and half curiosity, he noticed something that looked like markings and stepped closer. On one far wall there was a list of what looked to be names. Curiosity piqued further he set down his helmet and went to inspect it. He didn’t recognize a lot of them until he got to the bottom of the second row. Tarre Vizsla, Aga Awaud, Ranah Teh Naast, Dral Sparr… they were the names of past Mand’alor’s spanning back what had to be thousands of years. 

As if possessed by some unknown force he found himself pulling out a small utility knife and carefully carving his own name into the wall beneath that of Dral Sparr. When he was finished he stepped back and for the first time since he’d stepped foot on the planet’s surface he felt welcome.

The first week of his stay was a little awkward but quite relaxing. Jaster had been to a couple of resorts and fancy hotels in his life and this wasn’t all that different. Immediately he noticed a few key differences between these people and the Mandalorians. For one the servants, regardless of sex or gender, wore their hair fairly short while the warriors had long hair woven into braids or otherwise tied up in some manner. Their clothes were all vibrant and colorful but it was the patterns that intrigued him. Mandalorians tended to have very understated clothing with subtle designs that meant something to the one who made it, while the Stewjonians had a myriad of patterned clothing that didn’t seem to mean anything at all. 

Halfway through the first week he noticed that the holobooks he had taken with him had been neatly rearranged on the small shelf next to the bed. A day later he noticed new holobooks had been added and, curious, he went to look them over. Each one had a topic of interest to him, much to his surprised delight. There was one on Mandalorian history from the perspective of Stewjon, one on cultural practices that was quite helpful, and even a copy of a journal from a past Mand’alor. 

Once two weeks had passed and he realized someone was not only cleaning his room but keeping his shelf stocked with new and interesting reading material Jaster set a bit of a trap. There were apparently three servants who rotated out daily and he had yet to meet the one who kept leaving him such wonderful reading material. So far he had confronted two of them but the third remained elusive.

Begging off early, he could already tell that he and the Candidate for the day would not get along, he had a quick shower and changed into something less intimidating than the outfits that had been prepared for him. Thank the Manda that they were at least in a traditional Mando style in dark colors or he would have just worn his damned armor. Telling the guards that he would be taking a stroll alone he doubled back around and climbed onto the balcony. 

Honestly? He could have just asked the Mistress if she knew who had been stocking his shelf but this way was far more fun. 

A servant entered the room and quickly cleaned up, Jaster wasn’t all that hard to look after considering he was a tidy individual to begin with. Before they left they looked around for a moment before slipping a couple of holobooks from their clothes and slotting them onto the shelf. Quietly he entered through the balcony, he’d left it unlocked earlier, and stood waiting for the servant to notice him. 

They turned around, ready to leave. Brown eyes met jade green and Jaster felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of his lungs. The moment lasted for what felt like an eternity before the servant fell gracefully to the ground in supplication. 

“Mand’alor! Forgive me for intruding on you.” Their melodic alto voice said quietly. It took him a moment to get his bearings. 

“There is no need to kneel. I, ahem, I had a couple of questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind indulging my curiosity.” They looked up at him for a moment before slowly getting to their feet. 

“I will answer what I can, Mand’alor.” They promised softly. 

“You the one who’s been replacing my holobooks?” They flushed slightly and nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “Thank you.” Their eyes darted up in surprise before a small smile crossed their face. “Where are my manners? Jaster Mereel, he/him, but you probably already knew that.” 

“Sul-tan Honsul, Alor, also he/him.” Jaster smiled. “

A pleasure.” What came next was nearly an hour of back and forth about favourite works and authors, history, culture, and language. They even touched briefly on philosophy. The longer they spoke the more Jaster began to relax. 

“Forgive me, Alor, but I have other tasks I need to complete before the Mistress chides me.” He felt a small pang in his chest but nodded in understanding. 

“Of course, don’t let me keep you from your work.” Smiling a little more openly Sul-tan bowed, gathered up the hamper of dirty items, and hurried out of the room. Jaster frowned slightly at the faint feeling of loss but ignored it. Maybe a walk in the gardens would clear his head.

The next week he felt a little off, almost impatient. When the day for Sul-tan to take care of his rooms came Jaster made certain he was there, sitting on the balcony with one of the holobooks Sul-tan had left him. The man froze when he saw him but quickly relaxed, smiling. 

“Good day, Alor.” 

“Good day.” He watched them man for a moment before standing from his chair and coming inside. “Listen, I was wondering if you might do me a favor…” 

Later that day, as the sun was beginning to set, he met Sul-tan for a walk in the gardens. “This must be hard on you, Alor, if you need someone to talk to who is not one of your Candidates.” Jaster let out a deeply aggrieved sigh and grinned to himself when Sul-tan put a hand against their mouth to stifle a chuckle. 

“This wasn’t what I thought would happen when I took up the mantle of Mand’alor. Not that I’m complaining, just…” Sul-tan made a noise of agreement. 

“It wasn’t what you saw yourself doing?” Jaster smiled at him. 

“Exactly. Although the time here has been good for me, I’ve had time to finalize more of the new Codex I wish to introduce to the Mandalorians.” He looked at the slightly shorter man. “I also wished to thank you. The holobooks you left me gave me much needed insight into the history of Manda’yaim.” The man’s cheeks flushed, pleased with the compliment. 

“It was nothing, Alor, just a hobby of mine.” Jaster smiled. 

“A noble hobby, if you ask me.” They shared a smile before Jaster had to tear his gaze away from glittering jade green eyes that lit up in the low light of the sunset. The night ended with Jaster laying awake in bed, thinking about how easy it had been to spend hours alone talking with Sul-tan, hours that had felt like mere minutes. The next day, after breakfast, the Mistress came to him with a searching look. 

“Have you found a candidate you feel comfortable with yet, Mand’alor?” Jaster thought about the question, frowning. 

“Not yet.” The elder woman tutted. 

“Well, there are still five more Candidates before you run out. Do not worry if none of them are the right fit. I’ve heard that it took Dral Sparr six months to find their own spouse once they arrived on Stewjon.” Jaster raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle. 

“Who was the shortest?” The Mistress chuckled. 

“Tarre Vizsla. They knew the moment they entered the estate that their spouse would be one of the house guards, rather than one of the Candidates. It was not a surprise to us, we had been warned ahead of time that they were Ka’runi, one with inner power.” So much history that had been lost on Manda’yaim after the Dral’han had been preserved on Stewjon, thanks to the way they revered the Mandalorians. It still made him feel uncomfortable how easy it was for them to drop everything and obey his words but he knew that half of it was the Manda. They knew he could no more harm these people than they could harm him. They were children of Manda, just like he was. 

The next week passed slowly, far too slowly for his liking, and oddly he didn’t get a chance to talk to Sul-tan that week. Instead a different servant came in to clean his rooms and, while they were respectful, he found he missed those intelligent jade eyes smiling up at him in excitement as they spoke about different historical events and figures. 

With a clear and sudden insight he let out a groan and pressed his hand to his face. Here he was, thinking about how he would rather be walking the gardens with Sul-tan, while he was supposed to be paying attention to the Candidates. But the Mistress herself admitted that a past Mand’alor had chosen a spouse not from the Candidates, but from the guards 

That day he asked the Mistress if he could choose anyone to spend his free days with. The elder gave him a knowing look before asking in a mild tone, one that he wasn’t buying at all, if he had anyone in mind. 

Jaster knew who he wanted. 

They spent an entire day together, uninterrupted, and it felt nothing like any of the days he had spent previously. There was just something about them that clicked, he could see it in the way Sul-tan stood closer whenever he could, how he leaned in to listen with rapt attention, and how he had no qualms tearing Jaster’s arguments to shreds as they talked about galactic politics. 

“Have you ever left Stewjon before?” The man shook his head, although he looked curious rather than frightened of the idea. 

“I’m no warrior, my family are all either scholars or serve the Greater Houses. It’s not recommended for anyone who isn’t a warrior to leave the planet, let alone the system.” Jaster cleared his throat. 

“I could teach you to defend yourself, if you like.” The man blinked at him owlishly for a moment before letting out a small laugh. 

“Alor, you will surely be leaving soon and I have my work. I thank you for the offer but you are a busy man.” Jaster had no idea what to say to that, so he opted for not saying anything at all. Grasping the man’s face he brought their lips together in a kiss he hoped would get all of his emotions across. Sul-tan melted into him, letting out a small whimper. Jaster pulled away, giving the man some space to breathe. 

It was Sul-tan who pulled him back. 

"Alor..." Jaster shook his head. 

"Call me Jaster." Sul-tan swallowed hard. 

"Jaster." He let out a low growl of approval and kissed him again. 

When he tugged on the man's hand, looking toward his rooms, Sul-tan was eager to follow. 

Later that night as he lay in bed, the lithe redhead snuggled up against him and sleeping peacefully, he wondered if this was what bliss felt like. Running his hands through soft locks he knew what he had to do in the morning. 

When he woke Sul-tan was nowhere to be found. Jaster washed and dressed quickly, intent on speaking with the Mistress. “

You’ve made your decision, then?” He nodded. 

“How do I make it work? They aren’t a Candidate, they didn’t sign up for this.” The elder woman seemed amused. 

“Everyone who is here in the Soul Garden is eligible, each was asked if they wouldn’t mind leaving their life behind if they had a chance to find their match.” 

“Oh.” The elder woman had the nerve to laugh at him, although in the end he was also smiling at himself in amusement. 

"I will make the announcement.” She promised him. An hour later Jaster was pacing back and forth, feeling more nervous than he had ever felt in his entire life, as the Mistress finally returned. “It’s time, Mand’alor.” He turned to walk into the other room but was stopped by a hand on his arm. 

“Have no fear, you are destined. I have foreseen it.” He blinked in confusion as she swept out of the room ahead of him, beckoning him to follow. Ka’ra, the old woman had grabbed every single person on the estate and gathered them together. No wonder it took so long. 

“Our Mand’alor has decided.” There were excited murmurs amongst the gathered Stewjonians and Jaster had to take a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes roamed those gathered until he locked onto his target. 

The man looked upset for some reason and Jaster felt the irrational urge to maim anyone who had caused him to look that dejected. Stalking over to the ones standing in front of him he motioned for them to move aside. They parted, bowing slightly as they did so. Jaster stopped in front of Sul-tan and noticed that his body was tense. 

Was this not something he also wanted? Was this a mistake? “Sul-tan.” He said quietly, reaching up to caress his face. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you. Will you come with me?” He tried to make it a request, not an order. Jaster didn't want someone to think they had to reciprocate his affection if they weren't interested. He wanted a spouse, an equal partner, not a slave. 

The man let out a small sob before throwing his arms around Jaster’s neck. “Yes, Jaster!” His heart soared and he swore he could hear the Manda trilling in happiness. 

“Come then, let us say the vows. Together.” Sul-tan stepped back, wiping his tears from his face and nodding almost frantically. 

When Jaster left Stewjon he was not alone. At his side, staring out at the void for the first time, was a beautiful gift in mortal form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a;
> 
> Te Dinui- The Gift  
> Ka'runi- Star Soul, Mandalorians who have the Force.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sul-tan's POV.

When the birth of a new Mand’alor was felt on Stewjon the people gathered in the streets to celebrate their joy. Manda had once again blessed them with a Star Emperor, the one whose very spirit anchored the gods to the material plain. Of course Sul-tan didn’t quite believe those old legends, not in the way most people did at least. The new Mand’alor wouldn’t be a god given flesh, that idea was absurd. They would be a person. A person who was more in touch with the cosmos, but a person nonetheless.

When the current Mistress of the Soul Garden sent out invitations to the largest and most influential families Sul-tan was surprised to find an invitation extended to their House. It was all but forgotten that they had once been a Greater House until a disaster had devastated their numbers and pushed them into obscurity.

Looking over the letter curiously he glanced up at his parents. Sul-gyr and Sul-vika watched him with calm expressions. “This does not state one has to be the eldest child of the House, just that one has a willingness to serve the Mand’alor in all ways.” Up to and including bonding with them if that was what was desired.

“We know you, Sul-tan, you are not ambitious like your siblings.” He wanted to sigh. All of his elder siblings had gone on to serve Greater Houses, while he preferred his datapads and holobooks. “If you had your way you would forever sequester yourself in your room with your studies.” The two shared a look that was full of meaning.

“But we also know that you have one wish beyond that. A wish to find the other half of your soul.” He flushed, looking down at his hands as his carrier placed her hand on his arm and squeezed gently in reassurance. “No one here has ever struck your fancy, we know, but there will be more than the Mand’alor coming to Stewjon. They will have an entourage. Maybe what you need is a big strong warrior to sweep you off your feet.” Sul-vika said with a small giggle.

“Carrier!” He cried in embarrassment, certain his face was now as red as his hair.

“Your carrier may joke but we think it would be good for you to meet sovereign-worlders.” Sul-gyr, his caregiver, shook her head gently. “But it is up to you, Sul-tan. Only those who accept all that comes with a possible match to a sovereign-worlder are allowed into the Soul Garden. You have four days to decide. Let us know on the third day what you wish to do.” Sul-tan ran a hand through his hip-length hair.

“I will tell you my decision by the third day, Caretaker. Might I be alone to ponder this decision?” His parents looked at one another before they both stood.

“Use the meditation garden if you need to, Sul-tan. We do not want you to rush this decision.” He inclined his head in acceptance and smiled at them as they left together- still clearly in love even after having five children together.

Sul-tan sat in the small garden, listening to the trickle of water and the faint chiming of the wind crystals. He knew he should not make such a decision in haste, after all it could be something that changed his life forever.

With a sigh he lay back on the grass, uncaring that is outer robe was getting grass stains. Closing his eyes he reached out to the light he knew was there, just behind his eyes and deep in his chest. There was no feeling of danger or urgency. Just a content sort of warmth. Well that was at least comforting, to know he wasn’t in any danger.

But he would still take the time to think about this before making up his mind. Becoming a part of the Soul Garden was a big change from his everyday life.

In the end he chose to apply as a servant of the garden, certain he was neither qualified, connected, or even pretty enough to attempt a Candidate position. Besides, the Candidate positions were jealously fought over and even more jealously guarded. Sul-tan didn’t want to attract that much attention, not if it meant fighting with more competitive Stewjonians.

In the end he was selected as one of the household servants and two Sovereign Guards were sent to collect him four days after the selection. In front of the guards he allowed his carrier to cut his long hair and presented his parents with the braid, to remember him by if he never returned. Once his hair was shorn close to his head, no longer than his ears, he was led to the Soul Garden where he would undergo a short training period.

The training wasn’t difficult. Simple etiquette was taught to all Stewjonians along with the basics of service. One never knew when one of the sovereign-worlders would have need of them after all. Not that Sul-tan had ever expected it, since sovereign-worlders tended to stick to the larger cities rather than the more urban areas like the one where the Honsul family lived.

In the Soul Garden there was the Mistress, twenty Candidates, thirty servants, twenty of which were assigned permanently to a Candidate to serve as their personal housekeeper, and fifty guards.

The Mistress interviewed them personally and after a very long moment of uncomfortable silence he was assigned to the Mand’alor’s room as a housekeeper. One of three.

Sul-tan had never felt so honored and unnerved in his life.

When the Mand’alor arrived they were all called to greet him, although the Candidates took center stage of course. From what he could see of the Mand’alor he felt that sudden and inescapable draw of a Stewjoni to their King. It was such a warm and comfortable feeling, a sense of absolute certainty that he would be protected, safe. He could see how it would be easy to drown in the feeling if one weren’t prepared.

For the most part Sul-tan barely saw the Mand’alor. Only a glimpse here or there as he, the warrior had claimed himself to be a male and Sul-tan would respect his wishes and refer to him as such, spent his days with the Candidates. 

The first week of the Mand’alor’s stay Sul-tan made sure to put his observational skills to good use. When he noticed the holobooks had been moved, and that there were a couple datapads stacked on the nightstand, he realized that the Mand’alor was an avid reader. Intrigued he carefully looked through the titles, trying not to disturb anything just in case. What he found surprised him quite a bit. Politics, philosophy, history, and even culture. The fact that their Mand’alor wasn’t just a competent warrior with the stars in his soul but a well read and intelligent man made Sul-tan feel reassured.

Noting the lack of variety in the texts he quickly left the room and returned with a few from the library. Since the new texts would be noticed anyway Sul-tan rearranged the bookshelf in a more organized way.

Unlike the other housekeepers assigned to the Mand’alor Sul-tan did not actively seek the man out. He deserved both his privacy and time to unwind from the activity packed days he was spending with the Candidates. If he wished for company- he would call for it. So it came entirely as a surprise to Sul-tan when, at the beginning of the third week, the Mand’alor himself appeared in his room during a time he knew the man should be busy.

He had just finished placing more texts on the shelf with a satisfied smile, noting the texts on the nightstand were all ones that he had placed on the shelf before, when he turned to leave. There, standing in front of the waning light of the balcony, was the imposing figure of the Mand’alor himself.

This close Sul-tan could see the way the traditionally cut Mando tunic hung across broad shoulders cinched tightly around his solid waist. But it was his fathomless brown eyes that truly caught his attention. For a moment the entire world held its breath as something in his chest felt warm. Then he realized he was standing in the presence of the Sole Ruler and immediately prostrated himself.

“Mand’alor! Forgive me for intruding on you.” He spoke quietly in Mando’a, uncertain whether he had erred or not and hoping he wasn’t being a nuisance.

There was silence for a long moment and he dared not raise his head.

“There is no need to kneel. I,” the man cleared his throat as if nervous, much to Sul-tan’s confusion. “I had a couple of questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind indulging my curiosity.” Looking up he was again struck by how vast the man’s dark eyes were as he slowly rose from the ground.

“I will answer what I can, Mand’alor.” He promised softly, wanting nothing more than to be helpful in this moment.

“You the one who’s been replacing my holobooks?” He flushed slightly in response, knowing he had been caught. His eyes fell to the floor and he nodded, feeling guilty.

“Thank you.” Looking up in surprise at the man he saw a smile of gratitude on his face and couldn’t help but to smile in return. “Where are my manners?” He asked suddenly. “Jaster Mereel, he/him, but you probably already knew that.” It was clear what the man wanted.

“Sul-tan Honsul, Alor, also he/him.” The Mand’alor smiled at him and it did something interesting to Sul-tan’s insides.

“A pleasure.” Came the gentle reply in that rumbling voice, making Sul-tan shiver slightly.

After nearly an hour of just standing there and talking about all manner of interesting topics, the man was well read indeed and wickedly intelligent as well, he regretfully had to leave. The fact that the man had slowly relaxed in his presence made him feel welcomed and accepted in his private space, but a job was a job. Even if the topic on the way Mando’a and Sonja had slowly begun to intertwine was absolutely fascinating.

“Forgive me, Alor, but I have other tasks I need to complete before the Mistress chides me.” There was a small wrinkle in the man’s brow and he glanced toward the chrono on the wall.

“Of course, don’t let me keep you from your work.” Smiling openly, no longer afraid he had been bothering their king, Sul-tan bowed politely before gathering up the dirty hamper and scurrying off to his chores.

As he left the faint spark of warmth in his chest faded and Sul-tan frowned. It must have been the proximity of the Star Emperor who held the Manda in their soul that had made him feel so warm, and now that he was out of the man’s vicinity he was feeling that loss. That had to be it, right?

After two days of doing other chores around the estate Sul-tan was once again entering the Mand’alor’s quarters. Coming into the rooms he spied the balcony doors open and stopped in surprise. Once again the Mand’alor was wearing a traditional tunic, this time with in a style that showed off his muscled arms. He tried hard not to stare.

“Good day, Alor.” He wondered if the man remembered him. Vainly he thought that he might, seeing as Sul-tan was from one of the few Houses who had true green eyes and thus was distinct even among the other redheaded servants.

“Good day.” The man watched him for a long moment before he set down the datapad in his hands and came inside the room. That same warm and jittery feeling from last time returned and Sul-tan realized with sudden clarity it was because he found the man almost unbearably attractive. “Listen, I was wondering if you might do me a favor…”

Sul-tan felt self conscious as he wore the outfit that had been shoved to the back of his closet, the one his parents had ordered him to take with him just in case a nice sovereign-worlder took notice of him and he wanted to show off. Of course now that the Star Emperor himself had asked him to accompany him for an evening he was very grateful they had been so pushy about it.

Walking throughout the gardens in the evening they spent some time just allowing the peace of the garden to settle in as they spoke quietly on a more broad range of topics. He wasn’t surprised that the Mand’alor had once been a justice officer, what he referred to as a Protector, but the man looked pleasantly surprised when Sul-tan remarked that his normal job was as a researcher and low level scholar.

When a relaxed silence descended once again he glanced over at the man. He looked as if he were deep in thought. Sul-tan bit the inside of his cheek, still feeling a little nervous. “This must be hard on you, Alor, if you need someone to talk to who is not one of your Candidates.” He hadn’t known whether he should bring it up but he was honestly curious. After all part of the reason he’d avoided the man was to give him some time and privacy.

He let out such an aggravated sigh that Sul-tan had to hold back a chuckle, lest he offend the poor man.

“This wasn’t what I thought would happen when I took up the mantle of Mand’alor. Not that I’m complaining, just…” Sul-tan hummed in understanding.

“It wasn’t what you saw yourself doing?” He asked gently, knowing he was right.

“Exactly. Although the time here has been good for me, I’ve had time to finalize more of the new Codex I wish to introduce to the Mandalorians.” The Mand’alor looked down at him slightly. “I also wished to thank you. The holobooks you left me gave me much needed insight into the history of Manda’yaim.” Sul-tan couldn’t help the flush of joy that came to his cheeks.

“It was nothing, Alor, just a hobby of mine.” 

“A noble hobby, if you ask me.” He smiled up at the man before he seemed distracted by something and his eyes suddenly darted away. Sul-tan nibbled on his bottom lip. Had he done something wrong?

They left on an amicable note, with Sul-tan returning quietly to his own room. He didn't want to read too much into it but the way the Mand'alor had gently touched his arm and thanked him for the evening made Sul-tan want to hope for something more. He shook his head. The man had just needed a friend, nothing more. If he'd wanted something else he would has said so... wouldn't he?

The fourth week passed but Sul-tan didn’t catch the Mand’alor in his quarters again. Probably for the best. He doubted that the man had much time to waste on the likes of a servant. Even if they seemed to share many of the same thoughts on a wide range of things.

During one of the days he was supposed to clean the Mand’alor’s quarters one of the Candidates, Kij-vek, bumped into him when he was trying to right a picture frame in the hall. The frame dug into his hand and he hissed in pain as blood began to well up. Even the other Candidate with Kij-vek seemed startled at this behavior.

“Why?” Was all Sul-tan asked, wrapping a clean piece of linen around his hand to stem the bleeding.

“Little sneak!” Was all the, currently going by feminine terms, Candidate hissed.

“Let me help you.” Mal-tun said quickly, glaring over their shoulder at the other Candidate as they took the reigns and wrapped the wound more thoroughly. “Come on, we’ll tell the Mistress and she can decide what to do with Lady Illukij.” With their testimony added to Sul-tan’s the Mistress forgave him leaving his post and sent him along quickly to the medical room.

In the end Kij-vek was confined to her room until the Mistress could sort out the issue and someone else was sent in Sul-tan’s place to clean the Mand’alor’s quarters as his hand was treated with high grade bacta.

According to Mal-tun they had heard Kij-vek speaking disdainfully about the servants of the estate, treating them as lesser. When everyone heard about how the Mand’alor had requested a servant accompany him in the gardens for an evening she had become jealous. It wasn’t that hard to find out who had accompanied the Mand’alor and so she had lashed out.

Lucky him.

A few days later the Mistress requested his presence and he was worried that an issue with Kij-vek had come up. But as he stood there, uncertain, the woman had smiled at him. “The Mand’alor is requesting your presence for tomorrow.” His heart pounded in his chest.

“Me? But I’m no one important, not even a Candidate, I mean, I-” The woman laughed and placed a wizened hand on his shoulder.

“Those things don’t matter.” She looked him in the eyes, searching. “Do you want to spend the day with him? Get to know him better?” He sucked in a breath and for a moment was still. Did he want that? Yes. Yes, he really did. Heat bloomed on his cheeks and he finally nodded. “Then that is all you need, child.” She looked him up and down again before smiling. “Come, I have spare clothes that should fit you. I know you came with little and you’ll want to look your best for our Alor.”

From the moment he woke in the morning he felt excitement all the way to his bones. After a quick shower he changed into the nicer clothes the Mistress had leant him but hesitated over the jewelry. From the talks he’d already had with the Mand’alor he knew the man thought that such finery was nice but impractical and Sul-tan had agreed with him. So instead of wearing what the Mistress had given him he chose to wear the simple pendant his parents had gifted him on his Blooming day. It was a local red flower encased in clear crystal.

Over breakfast they talked about cooking and flavors, laughing at how Outsiders thought that the Mando’ade only ate spicy food. They spent some time in the library and he smiled as the Mand’alor realized they had actual physical books, among other things. For lunch they spoke about the Republic Senate and he listened as the man grumbled about how they were using the New Mandalorians to mine Beskar on the planet and sending it off-world. Everyone knew how expensive and rare Beskar was but only someone who knew about Mandalore’s history would understand the cultural and spiritual significance.

After lunch they were taken out to the stables and Sul-tan had to admit that he knew nothing of horses. His House had been scholars for a long time and had never really interacted much with animals. The Mand’alor was kind, gentle, as he led Sul-tan through how to saddle a horse and how to ride. Being helped onto the horse would have been humiliating if he hadn’t been so focused on how the man had lifted him as if he weighed nothing.

It left him feeling flustered and wondering how else he might use that strength.

At the end of the day, after a quiet dinner, they found themselves out in the garden once again. They sat on a bench by a small stream and watched the sun slowly sink beyond the horizon.

“Have you ever left Stewjon before?” He shook his head, unsure where the question had come from.

“I’m no warrior, my family are all either scholars or serve the Greater Houses. It’s not recommended for anyone who isn’t a warrior to leave the planet, let alone the system.” The Mand’alor cleared his throat, a question burning in his eyes.

“I could teach you to defend yourself, if you like.” Sul-tan stared at him for a moment, baffled, before he let out a small laugh. It was probably a little more harsh than he intended seeing the furrowed brow on the man’s face.

“Alor, you will surely be leaving soon and I have my work. I thank you for the offer but you are a busy man.” The man stared at him for a moment before he flew into motion. In a single move he placed his hands on Sul-tan’s head and leaned forward, pressing their lips together in what was clearly a kiss. The warmth in his chest burst into an inferno and Sul-tan whimpered as he pressed forward slightly.

It was only once they’d run out of air that the man pulled away. Inexplicably the Mand’alor move even farther away, letting his hands drop and giving him space. Was he… was he waiting for Sul-tan to get angry with him for being so forward?

Oh this sweet, sweet, man.

Sul-tan reached for his wrists and gently pulled him back so their thighs were touching, placing one of the man’s hands on his waist and the other on his shoulder. “Alor…” The man shook his head, dark eyes focused and intent.

"Call me Jaster." Oh.

“Jaster.” He said, nearly breathless. The man let out a low growl of approval and Sul-tan shivered with delight as he was kissed again.

Jaster stood, releasing him, only to take his hand and gently tug him up off the bench. When it was made obvious they were returning to Jaster’s quarters Sul-tan was more than happy to follow him.

The night was filled with the feeling of calloused hands against his skin, the taste of salt on his tongue, and the low rumbling of a commanding yet gentle voice that carefully took him apart. Until all he could do was chant a litany of the man’s name.

He woke early that morning, used to waking with the dawn birds. His body ached in many places but it was a delicious ache, the kind that only came from spending a night in more than enjoyable company. Looking down at Jaster’s sleeping face he couldn’t help but want to reach over and run his hands through brunette locks.

But… Jaster wasn’t his. Enjoyable night or not this was a new day. His time was up. Staring down at Jaster’s sleeping face he realized that he didn’t want to leave. Something inside of him was breaking. If he had to actually say good-bye he wasn’t sure he could do it without breaking down.

Quietly he gathered his things, changed, and snuck over to the door. He took one last look back at the Mand’alor before he quickly ran away.

It was only a couple of hours later, thankfully after he’d made himself presentable, that the Mistress called the household for an announcement.

“Our Mand’alor has decided.” The Mistress said as she came to stand before the household, the Mand’alor standing nearby and looking around with a small frown.

This was it then.

Sul-tan didn’t want to bring himself to hope, and yet he found himself desperately begging the Stars to grant him this one thing.

Jas... the Mand’alor strode toward him and Sul-tan held his breath. The guard and another servant who had been standing in front of him quickly parted out of the way as the Mand’alor stopped before him.

Please, please, please!

“Sul-tan.” The gentle fingers against his face made his eyes flutter closed, his entire body filling with want. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you.” His eyes opened in surprise and he was captured by that intense gaze, unable to look away. “Will you come with me?” He could hear how Jaster hesitated, how he tried to give him a choice.

But it was no choice at all. There was only one option Sul-tan would accept. “Yes, Jaster!” He threw his arms around the man’s neck and had to hold back a sob as warm hands wrapped around him, making him feel safe.

“Come then, let us say the vows. Together.” Stepping back he wiped the tears from his face, nodding so fast he felt light-headed. Or maybe that was just his happiness? He couldn’t be sure.

Later, standing on the bridge of Jaster’s ship, he looked out toward the stars and wondered just how far from Stewjon he would travel. Looking up at Jaster he realized that it didn’t matter. After all his home was not a place; it was a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star Emperor- The translation for Mand’alor in the Stewjonian language.  
> Sovereign-worlder- Mandalorians, especially those who come from Mandalore itself but it includes anyone who follows the Resol'nare.  
> Sonja- Stewonian Language.  
> Houses- Similar to Mandalorian Clans.  
> Carrier- The Stewjonian term for a parent who was pregnant with a child.  
> Caregiver- The Stewjonian term for a parent who was not pregnant with child.  
> Caretaker- The Stewjonian term for a parent who is not related by blood but by adoption.  
> Blooming day- The day a Stewjonian begins puberty, it’s a very obvious process and is often celebrated by family giving simple gifts to the now teenager.


	3. How it Ended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it actually ended. But if there's enough interest I could do a 'What-If' chapter with Jango and Sul-tan.
> 
> Warning: This chapter is gonna hurt.

As long as he’d known Jaster the man had been nearly unflappable. He was intelligent, honorable, and inspired loyalty in his people. He was a hard man to argue against, stubborn, and in the end he always got his way.

Unless he was talking with his riduur.

The redhead was slender and soft spoken, a self admitted scholar rather than a warrior. At first it hadn’t made sense to him. Jaster was the perfect example of a warrior and yet he had taken this delicate flower with him to the stars. The man didn’t even wear full armor. Just the bracers that had been crafted for him to mark his status as the Be’alor. No one really thought much of the pretty little thing who tended to stay in the Mand’alor’s quarters more often than not.

Even when learning to fight it was clear that he would only ever use his skills to defend himself and escape, rather than actually fight anyone.

Then, three months after he’d been brought on board, he showed exactly why Jaster had chosen him above all the others.

It had been after an attack on a civilian area, including a school. Jaster was simultaneously drowning in guilt and enraged that Kyr’tsad would dare do such a thing just to try and bait him. Everyone was on edge and nothing was getting done. No one wanted to be the one who set Jaster off. Even the Manda seemed to be singing a song of revenge in their veins.

Then the door opened and he appeared.

Clad in slippers and still wearing traditional Stewjoni clothing he almost seemed to float as he walked. The buzzing anger around the room dimmed as this fragile seeming man passed by enraged warriors as if he were on a calm stroll. Their emotions slid off of him like water and when he finally reached Jaster at the center of the maelstrom he left a bewildered calmness in his wake.

“Jaster.” His voice was soft, gentle, as he reached up and cupped the Mand’alor’s face with both hands. The man leaned forward, going onto his toes, and pressed their foreheads together.

Myles only heard the exchange because he had been standing close to Jaster, about to hand the man a datapad with new information.

“My Gift, you shouldn’t be here.” Came the rumble from the Mand’alor.

“You needed me. I wasn’t about to stay away when I could feel your heart breaking.” Jaster shuddered slightly and reached up to pull his riduur closer, one arm around his shoulders and one around his waist. “No one will think you are weak if you grieve, My Heart. You are not alone, and that is your strength.” Jaster murmured something further but Myles had turned his attention away from the couple out of respect.

“I will help you.” Sul-tan said quietly.

“You don’t want to bloody your hands with this. Revenge isn’t glorious or honorable.” Jaster’s voice was filled with regret and it made Myle’s stomach fall through the floor.

“Justice isn’t revenge, My Heart, and you are not a lesser man for wanting to protect your people. I will help you.” No one ever really won an argument with the Mand’alor.

Except his riduur.

From then on the Be’alor could be found working in the comms center, going over strategies with the tacticians, and working in logistics. He was a balm that soothed Jaster’s wounds and smoothed his jagged edges. He made their Mand’alor a better leader and everyone knew it.

So it was no wonder that Ky’tsad decided to send out their assassins to kill him three years after their vows.

Watching Jaster fall to pieces was one of the worst experiences Myles had ever been through. Everyone felt absolutely powerless as the man who had led them through hell and back collapsed to the ground with tears running freely down his face. His eyes were lifeless, like all the stars in the galaxy had gone out in a single instant. No words could get through to him and someone made the stupid mistake of trying to touch his shoulder in sympathy. It took eight warriors working together to take him down so a medic could jam a hypo in his neck and stop his rampage.

That was the beginning of the end for the Haat’ade. The day the very heart of them died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riduur- Spouse  
> Be'alor- Spouse of the Mand'alor  
> Kyr'tsad- Death Watch  
> Haat'ade/Haat Mando'ade- True Mandalorians


End file.
